


Scapegoats

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Adult! Jean, Gen, SnK 20's AU, WW2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean put on trial for his company’s role in prolonging the war. post-WW2 sequel, set in same world as SnK 20’s AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scapegoats

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by lapetrev's SnK 20's AU, which can be found: http://la-petite-revereuse.tumblr.com/tagged/snk 20's au

It was sickening, the flashing lights of the cameras, each going off like the lights above that city he’d once flew over. The air here was hot and humid and some idiot had lit a cigarette smoke wafting down towards him.

Jean had to fight not to gag as the acrid burning sensation of smoke filled his nose, too close a reminder to the plumes rising from that European city, the wispy grey hinting only barely at the shadow. Taking in the many ill-fitting suits of the gathered men, some cawing questions like a flock of _crows,_ their excitement for the about-to-be unveiled scandal like a hungry glint in their eyes, Jean snorted.

Of course these types would be here: soft and cushy in their homes, the shadow of war no more than the cause of economic suffering, stopping them from buying that new dress, or delaying their next outing at their idyllic little golf club.

Jean wondered what would happen if a plane flew overhead this instant: would they duck, silent and praying? Or would they go on, ignoring how _exposed_ they were?

A grin twisted his features, setting off the flashing of the camera lights once more, half-blinding him, and he instantly cleared his face once again. Great. Now they would paint him as some kind of sadist, wouldn’t they? It wasn’t like they cared about the dead; most of them were here only because it was the chairman of Kirschstein Holdings held to trial.

Not one of them would be thinking of that little boy he saw wandering about when they came to clear that European town, clothes torn and skin singed, still holding the wrecked remains of his sister’s corpse. Not one of them would think about the haunted dead eyes of the old woman lying ohsomuch like his father on the debris of a house. Not one…

The banging of the gavel interrupted his thoughts, the crowd hushing, reporters flurrying through their well-kept suitcases to find their materials. Looking resolutely forward, Jean steeled himself for the accusations about to be unearthed, catching the worried gaze of Marco out of the corner of his eye.

The judge leaned forward, wire-rimmed gasses slipping down to rest on his large nose as he peered down at the man in the court below. With a slight cough, he began, the stiff posture that seemed to be endemic to all men of law clearly present.

“We now call this court to order for the trial of Mr. Jean Kirschstein, officer in the Air Force and owner of Kirschstein Armament Holdings…” A pause, and Jean wondered what the man was waiting for; he was hardly the first one here today-Armin had been here earlier, his sweet silver tongue slipping him out of their grasp.

“…on the charges of war profiteering.” The stands erupted into an uproar, cameras flashing once more and the nasal voices shouting in self-justification, the chorus of _“I knew it…rotten businessman…playing good soldier boy huh?”_ echoing along the hall.

Jean’s eyes widened, the pupils dilating in shock at the words, stock-still and as stiff as a board. “Wait, what-” he tried to speak, but it came out as no more than a croak. He tried frantically to meet the eyes of Erwin, but the older man, blonde hair long gone grey, refused to meet his eyes.

“In addition, the accused is also suspected of double-dealing to the Enemy, and we have been provided two witnesses to this statement.” An intake of breath, and Jean stared in horror, heart thumping with each word, a drumming in his chest.

It seemed so loud in the silent hall, the shaking like that of the ground as they took shelter in the bunker, clinging on to each other to try and ward off the creeping chill of the winter snow.

“Thus, the crime is treason.”

He’d been told by Armin to be silent, to let the diplomats take care of the trial, but this was too much. How could they even consider that? He’d given…he’d given so much; he’d killed so many innocents, all in Her name.

Their blood stained his hands, and a crimson flood choking him, filling his nose and throat with their metallic tang, and he drowned in it, night after night, the eyes of people he’d never met, would never meet, staring at him with their cold dead pits.

And **_this_** was what they chose to focus on? It was too much, and Jean couldn’t hold back anymore.

Slamming his palms down on the polished wood, he raised his voice, harsh from the many years of barking orders. “Are you all _mad?_ ” he hissed, “On what grounds do you accuse me, who’ve _killed_ for our land, of **treason**?” He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, so unlike the once refined boy so loved by the papers before the war. The irony was absurd!

“I’ve never betrayed my country, your honour. I can’t be held responsible for running my business, not when I was away. At. The. War Front.” Jaded eyes took in the room, the hushed whispers a terrible snake whispering in his ear, and a little tongue of desperation rose as he saw the complete, utter disbelief in the eyes of the audience.

Looking towards Erwin, Jean was taken aback at the way the man had sank down in his seat. Suddenly, Jean could see all the years on the older man, normally larger-than-life, now just a world-weray old lion, the fight taken out of him.

Beside him, Marco was looking more and more horrified, the boyish freckles stark against his pale face, and even as he watched, Hange came by and pulled him out of the room, whispering in his ear. The small door closed with a terrible finality and Jean felt true fear for the first time.

“Prove it then!” he yelled, voice high, “Prove my so-called guilt! Because I can tell you, I’m innocent.” In this matter at least, added that traitorous corner of his mind, in this matter.

The judge cleared his throat and shuffled the papers on his desk, drawing two yellowed letters from a file on his desk and holding it up for the crowd to see. “Do you mean these, Mr. Kirschstein?” Jean peered at the two little slips, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“What are those supposed to be, your honour?” Even though they were written on standard army paper, he hadn’t written any since his mother died. The KAH basically ran itself; Jean’d put it under unofficial management-why waste a chain of perfectly good factories when the army was already short on funding. He _had_ heard it wasn’t doing as well…surely they hadn’t-

There was a ray of hope, and Jean looked at the judge. “No offence, but I believe that the court has received fabricated information. I haven’t written a letter in years, as my superiors can testify.”

All the judge did in response was to peer closely at the papers, the glasses slipping even further down his face. “Then explain how at least five recorded battalions of German troops were found in the possession of heavy artillery and machineguns with the distinctive Kirschstien logo.”

He turned the page with all the deliberation of a virtuoso, reading the next with a dry voice. “In addition, a war criminal in the German army was captured with a strong suggestion of having had personal correspondence with you. The contents were summed up in this invoice for the purchase of machine guns—for the use against one of America’s ill-fated battalions.”

Closing the file, the wigged man pushed up his glasses, expression flat. “I’m afraid you have no case, Mr. Kirschstein.”

Jean’s eyes were darting around, desperately seeking any kind of help, of any kind of respite, but there was none. He tried to speak, but the words were caught in his throat, helpless and completely, utterly betrayed.

What was worse, that he couldn’t decide: that they were seizing him on trumped-up charges, associating him with the _filth_ of the 1920’s—or that they hadn’t even mentioned the bombings of the Army, as if the atrocities he _knew_ he’d committed had no value at all.

The judge moved on, inexorable, and Jean made no attempt to speak or defend himself. They were going to convict him anyway, as the predatory eyes of the court watched, some reporters almost gleeful in their work. Might as well give some kind of dignity to this farce, and hide the trembling of his legs.

It was absurd, truly absurd, and everything seemed like a fever dream now, the room distorting around him as tears threatened at the edge of his vision. They didn’t fall, they never did; not since _she_ died. This must be some kind of nightmare, he would wake up soon, wouldn’t he, and he’d be back on the battlefield, the firing of guns in the distance, hopped up on caffeine and disturbed by the shaking of the ground.

It was absurd, really, the very _idea_ that he’d survive the war, only to be welcomed with this farce.

A bang of the gavel, so like the gunshots he’d heard so often, the gunshots haunting the memories of his happier teenage days-was that really only a decade ago? It seemed so long, and the innocence of those days looked so surreal.

_“…the accused shall be sentenced to death.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The SnK 20's Verse is a huge thing that mainly focuses on the adults of the SnK world, but being the rather derpy writer that I am, I can only write the kids. Hence Jean and Marco and Shiganshina Trio. 
> 
> As always, more fic can be found at serascribbles.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thank you for reading~!


End file.
